August 4, 2014
Last week’s biopsy results are in.
Not wanting to lose any time between procedures and reviewing their results with her doctors, we’ve been scheduling Anissa’s followup appointments for as close as the result’s availability will allow. For two weeks though, Anissa has had to spend the weekends wondering what the results of the previous week’s tests might be. As Tom Petty sings, “the waiting is the hardest part.”
Heading to the doctor’s office that morning we knew this was that moment. The moment you’ve all probably seen at one time or another on TV. That moment the doctor walks in and tells you the news. I remember watching Anissa’s face as the doctor shared the news with her. I know that look. As soon as the doctor began to speak about the results and confirmed the mass they found was malignant Anissa zoned out. She heard the voice speaking but wasn’t really paying attention. If I had to guess, I imagine what Anissa heard probably sounded like the parents in a Charlie Brown episode. Anissa’s mind soon came back to the conversation and that’s when she heard the diagnosis: Stage 1 cancer. To borrow a phrase from Larry David, I guess you could say it’s the “good kind” of cancer. The best case for a crappy scenario. It’s treatable and it’s not a death sentence.
Cancer doesn’t sound nearly as bad when it’s called by it’s given name:
Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. But then again, I’ve never trusted anything or anyone with three names. Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacey, Mark David Chapman – see my point?
The doctor very eloquently walked Anissa through what all of this meant, what to expect and what the next steps should be. He handed over some reading material on Stage I and II types of cancer. Sadly, it was very apparent he’s had a lot of practice delivering information like this. We left with the wind removed from our sails and with orders for an MRI and a PET scan this same week. Yup, more tests. It was now about determining with more accuracy just how large the mass and any satellite lesions were. More importantly, the PET scan would determine if any of this has spread beyond the breast.
Now that we know what it is – it’s time to bring the kids into the mix. For two weeks they knew Anissa had been going to Dr. appointments but didn’t have any idea what it was for or why. Anissa requested some reference material from her nurse navigator on how to talk to you kids about cancer. This was not an easy read for either of us, but it did help give us a starting point. Around three o’clock that day we gathered in the living room – began the conversation by asking about their day. We steered clear of the doom-and-gloom, “Your father and I have something to tell you…” approach. Instead, we reminded them of all the doctor’s appointments mom has been going to and simply began the conversation by letting them know that mom found a lump in her breast. Our daughter, Isabella began to ask a question, but then stopped herself. “Never mind, I’ll ask you in private” she said. Anissa told her she could ask any question in the open and we can discuss as a family. Isabella shielded her mouth to prevent me and Jonathan from seeing what she said and quietly mouthed, “Is it cancer?” from behind her hand. Anissa responded and said, “That’s a very good question. Yes, I have breast cancer.” It was the first time I heard Anissa say it out loud. She not only said it, but she owned it. Isabella’s face turned a bit pale with that answer. Jonathan immediately chimed in with, “Are you gonna die?”
Side note for parents: if you think your kids don’t hear your conversations, or if you think they are too young to understand what’s going on or being said, or if you think they won’t pick up on non-verbal clues – you are wrong.
We knew Isabella knew something was up. But she never asked about the appointments. Jonathan is younger and all boy (read: easily sidetracked by shiny things and a chance to get dirty) and unless it was related to minecraft he wasn’t going to give it much of a second thought. Isabella is amazingly in tune with people’s body language, their facial expressions and even the one sided conversations she might overhear while you’re on the phone. She’s really good at connecting the dots. The art of selective listening is practiced early on. Funny how when you ask them to take a shower, clean their room, or finish their homework they have a hard time hearing that stuff. It’s the things you don’t want them to hear that come through loud and clear.
The conversation with the kids was intentionally held at this time of day as opposed to in the evening. Could you imagine how that would go over. “Hey kids, your mom’s got cancer. Ok, time for bed. We love you, good night!” Surefire way to ensure nightmares. We knew that we needed to keep a sense of normalcy and routine. So after we informed them of the diagnosis and talked it through for a while we continued on with our day. Playing outside, swinging on the swing, getting dinner ready, watched a movie, and finally got them into bed. There were no followup questions.
On Wednesday and Thursday of this week Anissa had an MRI and PET scan. The results of these tests would be shared the following Monday. This meant another weekend of waiting. Weekends were no longer the much needed break we’ve come to appreciate and enjoy after a long week. They were beginning to feel like five days of work and stress crammed into two.
We were, of course, urged to seek a second opinion. Knowing this, we had to gather all the images and reports in order to provide the second opinion doctor with a full picture of Anissa’s situation to date. Labs, pathology reports, MRI and Pet Scan imagery, etc. The image below was taken while waiting for the radiology records to be burned to CD. You can see Anissa on the left side of frame. You can’t really tell, but she’s looking at me like I was crazy cause I got all excited over a convex mirror. I love that look she gives whenever I’m shooting something that isn’t traditionally “pretty”. I love the look more when she see’s the final image.